


Starcrossed Hunger Games

by tellmesomethingnew



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Blood, Crossover, Dystopia, Gen, Love/Hate, Romance, Unhappy Ending, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-29
Updated: 2016-06-02
Packaged: 2018-07-10 21:45:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7009309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tellmesomethingnew/pseuds/tellmesomethingnew
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even though Hermione Granger is from District Gryffindor and Tom Riddle is from District Slytherin, love in indefinite. Two old souls are brought back together when only one can live at the end of the 74th Hunger Games.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Reaping

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for Tomione Day and for the few people who had urged me to turn my past few Hunger Games/Tomione drabbles into a full fic. Please note this is just a small fic as the chapters will be short and quick (hopefully not too quick) to the point. I wrote it at my own pace and for my pure amusement. I hope everyone enjoys.

Hermione sat up in her bed, taking in a deep breath as she grasped at her tangled sheets and looked around at her bedroom. Entering back into the harsh bitterness of reality, the dream of sunshine and daisy’s was long gone. In its wake, the morning the of the Reaping for the 74th Hunger Games.

Sitting in the emptiness of the cold, dark room, Hermione could tell that the sun would rise at any moment. A darkened pastel blue light illuminated the room and seeped through the cracks of her closed wooden shutters on her windows.

Eventually she got up, touching her bare feet to the cold wooden floor as she looked across the room towards the other girl she shared the room with. Little Ginny Weasley was still fast asleep. Hermione wrapped her arms around herself and stepped out into the hallway that led to the kitchen in hopes of leftover bread from last night’s dinner. The silence of the house told her everyone else was still asleep.

Sitting at the kitchen table, staring out at the rising sun was Mrs. Weasley, the woman who had taken Hermione in when her father died.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” Mrs. Weasley asked, her voice filled with exhaustion and worry. There were so many children in the house to stress over. Anyone could be picked in the Reaping today.

Hermione was quiet as she watched Mrs. Weasley struggle to her feet and wave Hermione over to take a seat. “Sit down, dear. I’ll pour you some tea. The water’s still hot.”

Hermione walked over and took a chair near the one Mrs. Weasley had previously been sitting in and watched the old woman.

Mrs. Weasley had curly ginger hair cut shoulder-length. She was a healthy, beautiful, smart, and very proud woman, but her face was aged with worry and frown lines. She had a very big heart and loved so intensely, even after her husband had died in the Hunger Games. Molly Weasley had been Hermione’s second mother, even back when her own mother was still alive and she was just close friends with the middle child Ron Weasley.

When Molly placed an old, stained tea cup, reeking of chamomile, before Hermione, she sat back down and went back to drinking her own tea. Taking a sip of her fresh tea, Hermione let out a soft sigh. The tea was soothing.

“I’ve never felt this worried before,” Hermione whispered.

Molly looked over at Hermione with a questioning gaze.

“I mean,” Hermione licked her lips, “I’ve been worried at the past Reapings, but today I woke with the worst dread I’ve ever felt.”

Molly took Hermione’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “There are hundreds of other names put into the Reaping, my dear. There’s such a small chance that yours would be picked.”

Mrs. Weasley’s hopeful words eased a small weight off of Hermione’s chest.

Until her name, in fact, did get picked that day, along with Mrs. Weasley’s youngest son Ron.

Fate was cruel.


	2. Mentor

Four districts, twenty-four tributes. Some of the past Hunger Games had gone by quickly, others not. Strength, determination, and wits varied from person to person and never truly came out until their lives became threatened within the arena. This was the way of Panem for seventy-four years exactly ever since the Dark Days and the rebellion when Panem was divided into the four districts Slytherin, Ravenclaw, Gryffindor, and Hufflepuff, all in charge of certain things to keep Panem running and people alive.

Hermione and the other five tributes from her district, Gryffindor, got to meet their mentor on the train to the Capitol. Remus Lupin, Victor of the 65th Hunger Games.

The first few hours on the train were quiet, tense, everyone in shock of the fact that they could be dead in four days. Their names had been unfortunately picked. This was it. Remus came through the sliding doors and broke the tense atmosphere. Hermione eyed the large scar running down the side of his face and cringed. Harry, Neville, Lavender, Ron, and Angelina soon mirrored Hermione’s face when they saw the scar as well.

“When we get to the Capitol, every single decision you make will be crucial to your survival in that arena,” was the first words out of Remus’s mouth. No _hello_ , no _I’m Remus Lupin, your mentor._ He was cutting to the chase and Hermione wasn’t sure whether she was thankful for it or if she wished for the ease he could have given the six of them.

“Just like the past seventy-three years, they’ll ready you for the chariot rides to the tribute center where you’ll be training the next three days.” He stopped when he noticed everyone’s pale, fearful faces.

Hermione’s heart battered against her chest. She was the first of the six to speak. “Go on.”

Remus’s eyes zeroed in on her and his face lit up. “Hermione Granger, daughter of Danny Granger. What a pleasure it will be to mentor you.” He blinked and then motioned his head to the rest of the tributes. “And you all as well. Don’t count on me playing favorites,” he quickly added.

Hermione looked down at her hands, her face going red and sad. Remus had mentored her father, who was the last tribute to die in the 66th Hunger Games. He had been so close to winning…

“ _The_ Granger?” Lavender squeaked shakily, nervously. She sat up in her chair with her eyes wide and on Hermione.

“One and only,” Hermione murmured.

Ron Weasley, sitting in the chair next to her offered her a friendly, comforting smile.

“Lunch first, mentoring after?” Remus asked with a small smile when three carts of silver plattered food came in through a sliding door.

Everyone grew restless when the plates were unvieled, showing fresh fruits, meats, and vegetables with a pitcher of clean, ice water.

_How could they have the stomach?_ Hermione wondered with lack of appetite for the food.


	3. Rivalry

Gryffindor was a District that had always been symbolized by a lion and the colors of red and golden. So all six Gryffindors were dressed in shimmering gold and bold red, all in different outfits. Their designer wanted them to stand apart from each other, but still look like a team. Hermione wore a blood red gown, small cape representing a lion’s mane, and had golden straps on the dress that matched the eyeliner on her eyes and the chandelier earrings. Her hair, which was originally wild and bushy to begin with, was left alone with a headband of golden strings with patches of fur gathered on the chain here and their. She looked like a lioness goddess, according to her district representative.

Standing before the horses of the assigned chariot she’d be sharing with Neville, Hermione wrung her hands, playing harmlessly with her manicured nails covered in acrylic claws. She tried to breathe, her stomach empty and in pain. She hadn’t eat since her last supper at home. She cursed herself for not eating anything before the departure from the train.

Up ahead stood two Ravenclaw girls dressed in similar sapphire blue dresses decorated with different shoulders decorated with the dark feathers of their symbolized animal, the raven. They were staring at Hermione, sinister looks on their faces as they talked to each other in voices too small for Hermione to hear. Hermione could already imagine them stabbing her to bits and pieces in the arena.

“If you show your vulnerability, it’ll only make it worse,” came a voice from behind Hermione.

She turned around and eyed a tall man with dark wavy hair, cold steel eyes, his lips set into a small but strong sneer, and a slender body clothed in a sleep black suit. The green and silver tie and the overdecorated silver snake that was wound around each of his middle fingers told her which district he was from. He was from Slytherin, a hated district.

Hermione felt it was best to ignore him and turned to one of her two horses. She reached up and stroked its soft pink nose and in return, the horse buried its face into Hermione’s gentle hand.

“You must be Hermione Granger,” said the man.

“I am,” Hermione answered without asking for the man’s name. She didn’t care.

“Other tributes will be keeping their eyes on you, Miss Granger,” warned the man.

Hermione turned her head and pulled her eyebrows together, suddenly feeling defensive as he gave her a soft, sarcastic smile.

“Let’s see if you can live up to your father,” the  man murmured before he brushed passed her and headed for his assigned chariot, which was way up ahead in front of Ravenclaw.

Hermione scowled and pet the horse.

“What’d he want?” came Ron with an angry tone.

Hermione kept her eyebrows pulled together and looked over at Ron with a questionable look on her face.

“That was Tom Riddle,” Ron said, motioning his head to Tom off in the distance.

Hermione’s eyebrows relaxed as her eyes widened. She looked back over in Tom’s direction as all of the other tributes began to show up from the elevators. The chariot rides would begin soon, no doubt.

Tom Riddle was son of a long line of fierce, violent Victors and Tribute of a very ruthless, powerful, and prideful district.

With him in the games, Hermione knew she wouldn’t stand a chance at survival.


	4. Fainting Spell

The chariot ride felt longer than what Remus had promised them. And as much as seeing President Snow in the end made her stomach twist and bile rise in her throat, all she could truly focus her mind on was Tom Riddle.

The son of the man who had Hermione’s father killed in the 66th Hunger Games.

She turned her head and looked over at him, the chariots all lined up before President Snow as he gave his bullshit yearly speech on the Hunger Games. _May the odds be ever in your favor,_ was his way of wishing them good luck in the Games to come. When Tom looked back at her, her cheeks turned a bright red with embarrassment and she turned her head away.

Her head began to spin.

She tried to focus on her breathing as the chariots began moving towards the Tribute Center where Hermione and Neville would meet up with the rest of their District to tour their District Gryffindor apartments they’d be living in for the next three days.

She tried to step off the chariot, but instead begun to sway. She was dizzy with low blood sugar and no food in her stomach. Her vision went black and she toppled to the concrete with a group of gasps and shouts. She had fainted.

“...hadn’t eaten since before the Reaping,” she heard Ron say when she came back to reality and struggled to open her eyes.

“Give her some bloody space!” Tom said angrily.

Hermione’s eyes opened fully and she looked up at Tom, who had her head in his lap and a hand pushing some sort of fruit to her lips.

“Eat, you foolish girl,” he hissed to her under his breath.

Hermione didn’t have the strength to refuse him, so she ate. Tom kept her there until she heard Remus’s voice off in the distance. When Remus finally came over to her, he grabbed her by her upper arms and pulled her to her feet with a very angry expression.

Hermione stumbled a little bit, fighting to regain her balance as Remus said, “Now is _not_ the time to starve yourself, Miss Granger. Save that for the Games.”

Tom got to his feet in a blink of an eye and without warning, picking up Hermione bridal-style as he glared at her mentor.

“W-what-” Hermmione started.

“Maybe you need to take better care, Lupin. I’d like everyone at their best health when I face them in the arena,” he said with a sinister voice that made Hermione shiver in his arms.

Tom pushed past Remus and headed for the elevator.

Hermione looked up and watched Tom, his face unreadable and blank. When they entered into the elevator before Lupin and a very worried and pale Ron, she groaned, making a mental note to force feed herself should she still have no stomach for food in the wake of the Hunger Games.

“It wasn’t on purpose,” she said slowly. She wriggled a bit. “Let me down.”

Her dizziness waned a little and all the fuss people were making around her infuriated her.

Tom ignored her. Carrying her as if she weighed nothing until the elevator stopped and the doors opened to the Gryffindor apartment, he went to go take a step when Remus stopped him.

“This is as far as you get to go,” said Remus as he took Hermione from Tom’s arms, his eyes still glaring at the District Slytherin Tribute, stepping into the apartment.

Hermione turned her head and looked at Tom. The elevator doors were closing and those cold eyes were on her.


	5. Save it for the Arena

It was their first day of training and already Hermione had learned so much between wand yielding, casting, spells, and potions. It was strange for Hermione to learn all the things about a wand she grew up unable to learn. Yielding a wand wasn’t restricted, but Peacekeepers kept watch in each District to make sure no one used any spells forbidden for them and there weren’t any books or teachers that one could find time to indulge in to learn from.

The training center was a very large room to allow more than plenty of space for all twenty-four tributes, sectioned off into many different types of sections to practice certain arts in such as spells, incantations, defensive and offensive spells, potions, dueling room, hand-to-hand combat, natural survival skills, and there was even a section off in the farthest corner for books. Hermione eyed that place from the moment she first set foot in the training center.

When the instructor finished with showing them the basics to properly use a wand and allowed everyone to go off and do their own things, Hermione bolted for the book corner. It consisted of two large bookshelves pressed together in the corner with a cushioned carpet beneath it to allow for seating. As Hermione approached the area, she could get an idea of the titles of the books such as _Basic Survival of the Arena_ , _Defense Against the Dark Arts_ , _The Ultimate Book of Herbology_ , _Dark Art Spells_ , _Spells for Beginners, Charm Spells, Transfigurations, Magical Creatures,_ and hundreds more, all neatly squished together on each strong shelf in alphabetical order.

Hermione picked up the first book she could grab and sat down on the carpet, diving in.

A few hours into training time, dozens of curious whispers and murmurs caught Hermione’s attention. Her head poked up from the top of the large book in her hand about _Defense Against the Dark Arts_ to see the dueling room occupied by Harry and Tom. Everyone else stood by the windows on each side of the entrance to the room, watching with excitement and making bets.

Hermione closed her book and pushed herself onto her feet quickly when she saw Harry get knocked to his ass. She hurried over and pushed passed the crowd to the entrance. Harry was getting his ass handed from him judging by the cut on his cheek. Hermione hoped, for some sinister reason, that Tom kept in mind that the instructor warned them to save the fight for the arena and for all dueling to be clean here.

Harry Potter was the son of two very skilled Tributes. Hermione had only hoped the genes of a skilled wizard and witch would pass down to him, but then again Tom was a Riddle. And not only a Riddle, but from District Slytherin. It wasn’t a fair match.

For one moment, Hermione wanted to break between them and block Tom’s next spell, but she stopped herself and remembered what Remus had warned them. He wanted everyone in their District to save their strongest skills for the arena so they could catch everyone (and each other) by surprise.

So Hermione watched Harry try to get back up on his feet only to get knocked back down against with a knock-back spell. Tom smiled with a swell of pride, looking over at the watching crowd only to rest his eyes on Hermione, only as if he had been searching for her. Her stared so long at her that eventually, everyone in the crowd turned their heads to her.

“Granger, care to duel with me?”

She sucked in a breath. “Maybe some other time,” she answered carefully. “I have better things to focus on,” she soon added as she turned her back and headed back to the books.

She could feel Tom’s sinister grin and his eyes on her.

That night at dinner was spent with Remus forcing everyone to talk about their day. Lavender and Angelina did a mixture of practices, Neville focused on survival, Hermione focused on books, and Ron did a mixture at first but then focused on defensive and offensive spells along side of Harry. The end of dinner was spent with Harry going off about Tom and how much he can’t wait to face him in the arena while Lupin kept eying Hermione every few minutes, making sure she was eating.

“Maybe Hermione will put him in his place,” said Ron with his hate directed towards Tom like Harry.

“Yeah, she’s a natural with the wand,” added Neville.

Hermione’s cheeks reddened. “Let’s save it for the arena.”


End file.
